


Confessions of a Half-Elf Fighter

by brennasaur



Series: Morrigan Skyshard [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Backstory, Budding Love, F/M, Family Feels, Half-Elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brennasaur/pseuds/brennasaur
Summary: Morrigan Skyshard reveals her backstory to a sleeping companion as they share a bedroll. This is the first story for my Out of the Abyss PC!
Series: Morrigan Skyshard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088324
Kudos: 1





	Confessions of a Half-Elf Fighter

The red-headed female sat on the ground and combed her fingers through her hair, picking out moss, bugs, and other cave debris. She had already lost count of how long she had been trapped in the Underdark with a heavily diverse pack of other survivors, but she did know she was overdue for a bath. The last time they had ended up near a body of water had not gone well for her; a moment of madness driving her so far into her own head that she had missed their blue companion almost drown. She blushed, thinking of the last sight she remembered before that catatonic state, and against her own will turned her golden eyes to the side, seeking out M’akzwehl.

She found him easily enough, and luckily he was turned away from her prying gaze. He was meticulously unfolding his— well, their bedroll, smoothing out the material against the unforgiving dirt floor. The redness of her cheeks dipped down to her neck as her mind mulled over that word. Their. She hadn’t meant to continue to take advantage of his kind offer of sharing his possessions, but even at the risk of looking weak to the rest of their group, she had grown accustomed to his weight beside her, and it made her feel safe. His voice broke her out of her reverie, and when her vision came back into focus, she saw his eyes were on her now.

“Morrigan, are you all right?”

Her back straightened and she nodded, hoping that he couldn’t see her inflamed skin through the dense dark around them, but knowing his half-Drow heritage, he could probably see that and her desperate attempts to clean herself up before they found themselves in close quarters. She gave up on the task, climbing to her feet and tucking her hair behind her slightly curved ears. She surveyed the room around her, half-elf eyesight allowing her a pretty good view of her companions all settling down for the night.

She saw that the genasi, Gwynt, was curled up on the floor, clutching his necklace that strongly resembled a female bosom, and she stifled a laugh. Not far from him was their human paladin, Dunham, lying as comfortably as possible amidst his heavy armor, halfling Milo tucked into the curve of his back. Goblet, a tiefling, sat in the far corner of the room, eyes closed, but not sleeping. She saw his tail twitch back and forth, and his eyes were roaming behind his eyelids. She supposed he was mediating, but she didn’t know him well enough to say for sure. On Goblet’s right lay another like him. Quinn kept her distance from everyone except the tiny mushroom, Stool, who she was clutching to her chest like a mother would swaddle an infant. Her heart gave a lurch when she didn’t see Shushar or Jimjar, but a closer inspection revealed the Kuo-Toa and the gnome sitting side by side, guarding the opening to the tunnel outside the cave.

Her shoulders dropped, tension releasing, knowing that their group was safe— for the moment. She heard guitar strings wail behind her as M’akz mindlessly tuned the instrument, his soft hum filling her ears as he harmonized to get each note perfectly in place. She let the music's siren call bring her to him, and she sank down on the cool material of the bedroll. He turned to her in surprise, eyes glittering with the joy of his craft. He grinned at her, and sat the instrument down gently beside him. He murmured something she couldn't understand in the guitar’s direction, but before she could ask what he had said, he pulled the cover of the bedroll back, inviting her to slip inside.

It was a nightly routine they had; one that never failed to amuse her. She thrilled at his frustration, the way he would huff a sigh and grit his teeth. It was incredibly endearing, but mostly her stubborn nature would not allow him more chivalry than she had already accepted. He would hold the cover open for a time, and she would stare him down. He would say something in his lilting accent to the effect of:

“We’re not gettin’ any younga.”

Finally her silence itself goaded him into the bedroll. She would follow after, the size of the sleeping quarters demanding physical contact. She would press her back against his, feeling the warmth ebb between the two of them like stones in the afternoon sun. Tonight though, she was too exhausted to play her games, so she dipped her head in thanks as she snuggled under the cover, eyes closing. She waited for his weight to join her, but it never came. She turned, seeing he was still holding the edge open with a shocked expression. She rolled her eyes and patted the space beside her.

“You coming?”

M’akz blinked and recovered his composure with an easy grin.

“Oh, sure.”

He settled in beside her and all was quiet for a long time apart from the distant dripping of water and the murmur of Jimjar’s voice as he chatted away at Shushar. Morrigan turned, her face to M’akz’s neck.

“M’akz? You awake?”

The silence continued, and she saw his chest rise and fall in crisp, slow waves. She maneuvered to lay on her back then, staring up at the roof of the cave. If she looked hard enough and didn’t blink, she could conjure constellations upon the ceiling. Her heart ached recalling the open skies of her village, and a whisper came from her throat, the sharp pain of swallowed tears behind it.

“I think my dad would have liked you.”

The tears came then, burning her cheeks like small rivulets of liquid fire. She tried hard not to sob, fearing the sound would wake him. She closed her eyes to try and staunch the flood, hoping that when it subsided, sleep might find her. The tears did stop eventually, but she was still wide awake. Her eyes fluttered open, reacquainting her with a darkness even thicker than the ones behind her eyelids. She sighed and then continued.

"My mom, well--"

Morrigan paused as she considered her mother's fate. She was with her village's army as they stormed the opening to the Underdark, and the last time she had seen her was when they were both fighting for their lives. Morrigan had woken up in a cell with a purple-skinned tiefling, and broke out not long after. She could only imagine that by now, her mother had either been destroyed or was being used as a slave for the drow. It was almost easier to believe the former.

"I don't know what she would have thought. She was always a lot harder to read than my dad. She had thicker skin because of where she came from. She lived with a pretty big group of people; an army of sorts. It was mostly made up of humans, like her, but they had a gathering of orcs join them along the way. The humans always put their men in the front lines, leaving the women to do household duties. Banal things. That wasn't good enough for Catherine Grimm. She had such a fire burning within her. She liked to say that's why my hair came out this shade; her womb lit me aflame and I survived."

A broken sound echoed softly along the cave walls, and Morrigan slowly realized it was a hollow laugh that came from her own throat. She clutched a lock of her hair, tugging on it, desperate to ground herself to the here and now. She didn't know why she was saying all this out loud. Perhaps she was hoping it would ease the emptiness inside her chest, the one that screamed at her constantly for not being good enough. For not being quick enough. For not being strong enough. For ending up here in this cave without her tribe, without her mother. For being the one to survive when she did not deserve it. She clutched her ribs, crossing her arms over her chest with enough pressure to sting. Once the ache of her heart waned, she took a breath.

"My mother desperately wanted to feel like she was a part of things. She wanted to be a hero. Her father laughed in her face when she asked him to teach her how to fight, and she had to learn how to suppress her emotions instead, because when she cried in that moment he laughed even harder and asked her how she expected to kill a man if she was going to cry like a girl if someone insulted her. Her mother was, of course, silent. There was no talking back to the men in those days. They ruled everything. With no help from her family, she instead took to the other side of their camp and watched the orcs for a while. She noticed that they had no qualms about letting their females fight. She would watch them spar and grew bolder and bolder every day. She finally sought out one of the half-orcs, a young female named Mornazg, and asked her to train her. I never found out why she accepted, but I do know they became fast friends. Mornazg would fight with her, and my mother became more comfortable with the orcs than with her own family. They even taught her how to speak their language, and she would infuriate her father by cursing him in orcish, making all the orc warriors collapse in laughter. She had finally found her place."

Morrigan's ears perked up as she heard footfalls heading her way. She snapped her eyes closed and controlled her breathing; knowing that it was time for a watch change. She wasn't quite ready to sleep, but she wanted to stay here, close to a sleeping M'akz, and she knew that if he were awake, she wouldn't be able to continue. She whispered prayers under her breath, and was relieved to hear JimJar collapsing on the other side of she and M'akz, and could just make out the sound of Shushar gently waking Milo and Dunham. She listened to the soft clangs as Dunham rose and dragged himself and his armor towards the cave mouth, and snuck a peek at Milo dangling from his shoulder. She smiled softly at the pair, waiting for everyone to settle back into their rhythm before she went on.

"The camp was making a journey to the High Forest to explore the ruins there, as they were running out of supplies and seemed to get more and more mouths to feed every day. They were caught by a dragon on the cusp of the location, and more than half of them lost their lives. One of those was Mornazg. My mother watched her only friend in the world die right in front of her. Before the last bit of light left her eyes, Mornazg forced her knife into my mother's hands, making her promise to leave and not try to avenge her. She was never sentimental, my mom. I like to imagine that she mourned her friend for a time before she ran into the forest by herself, but she never told me such. She always jumped right to the part where she met Loel Skyshard."

Morrigan thought of her dad then, of his kind face and calloused hands. She put her palm up to her cheek, caressing the skin there. She imagined it to be his touch, hearing him whisper her nickname into her ear.

"He called me Mor. I think he thought it was funny, because I was an insatiable kid. I wanted more food, more time in the woods, more--"

She broke off. She was getting ahead of herself.

"My dad was in the woods when my mom wandered into them. He was communing with nature, as he so often did, and the forest itself told him she was coming. He had a really special connection to the wilds. It fueled him; mind, body, and soul. He knew she didn't pose a threat to him, so he left his longbow at his side when she approached, knife thrust out in front of her. He only smiled and welcomed her to the area. I don't know if I believe in love at first sight, but there was something wild in my mother's face that reminded him of a feral animal. It made him feel at peace, because he was never more at home than when surrounded by an unbridled natural force. She had no choice but to trust him as he led her back to his village; carefully concealed in the trees. If he hadn't told her where to look, she would never have noticed the wood elves watching her carefully from their ligneous homes. She took refuge there for-- well, a long time. The other elves were always wary of her, but they were grateful for her fighting capabilities, and even let her lead a hunting party of her own. It wasn't long until my dad made his affections for her known, and with her teeth bared wide, she devoured the attention. It was a quick romance, ending the way all fairy tales usually do; a wedding, a house, and me."

The ache was coming back again. She paused to collect herself, and turned to face M'akz again. She focused on his side, watching his breath ebb and flow. She counted the time between his breaths, becoming intoxicated by the calming pattern of it. She stayed facing him, her cheeks growing red once more.

"You don't know me, not really. I'm scared for you to. I don't want you to realize that all I am is a girl who grew up in the forest. That I painted animals with my dad every single day. I learned how to make a unicorn call before I could even say 'Mama'. I only ever hunted to feed our village, and even then, my dad and I would pray over the body of the animal and thank it for keeping us alive with its spirit. The prayers were the closest things to songs that we had, except for the ones my mother would sing me at night. Something about a little star that shined so bright. I always wanted to be that star. I know you more than anyone will understand what it's like to be the mutt of your race. I guess of both of your races, but I was only ever with the elves. If you saw them, M'akzwehl... you'd learn what a mutt I really am. I wouldn't consider myself the best of any of them. I'm not beautiful like them, or intelligent like them, or talented like them. Their children sneered at my barely curved ears, and they laughed at my copper hair. My mother threatened to break a nose or twelve, but my dad was ever the pacifist. He suggested she teach me how to defend myself, in the event that someone struck first. She was more than happy to oblige, and it was almost like she was waiting for permission. During the day, I would continue my education in the forest with my dad, and at night, my mother and I would spar. It was so freeing to get all that rage out from inside of me to land a punch, swing an axe, wield a knife. She taught me orcish, preferring to teach me the way she had been taught so long ago. She even gave me Mornazg's knife, which had M O R carved into the blade. I never asked her, but I think she named me after her."

M'akz's breathing hitched, and for a second, Morrigan thought he might stir, but he only shifted slightly closer to her, his hand inches from her own. She reached out to touch him, but jerked back. She didn't want him to wake, and who knows how close he was to the end of his rest. She felt a pressure on her head that felt like it was telling her to keep going; if she could only get this out, the headache might disappear.

"I had the knife with me, that day. We had scouts going around way before then because we had been coming upon animals that were brutally slain, and the forest was screaming at my father to fix it. These animals were wasted, and nature was not going to rest until the culprit was brought to justice. He should have had someone with him. I should have been with him. I was with my mother, making plans for our hunting parties to shoulder our weapons and go out and fight whatever it was. It got dark, and he never came back. When we found him-- oh god, M'akz. He had followed a trail of blood to a cave opening, thinking that maybe whatever had hurt the animal would be inside. He was horribly right. It was an entrance to the Underdark that we didn't even know was there. I felt like he should have. Like the woods should have told him. But maybe-- maybe the mist has something to do with it? Maybe the drow have some sort of magic that we don't understand, one that overpowers all else. He was long gone by the time we got to him. I-- I don't remember much of it. I think I grabbed his exploring pack, full of his painter's tools, a bedroll, rations, daggers, arrows, and torches, and shouldered his longbow and rallied the rest of the party behind me. It's my fault that we were taken over by the drow. I should have known I wasn't ready to lead. I couldn't think straight. Someone should have stopped me, but-- if someone had tried I might have killed them. I think I really might have."

Morrigan put her face in her hands and rubbed her temples with force. She was so close now. So close to the truth that she could taste bile in her mouth.

"I killed my mother. I killed my party. I led them to slaughter. I lost Mornazg's knife. I lost all of my dad's things. A black cloud follows me, and I should have just stayed in Velkenvelve. I thought that maybe if I helped someone; if I helped get Goblet out, it might be the one last good deed I did. Something to take the place of murdering my family, and maybe someone, somewhere might have mercy on me. I don't really know if there's some sort of deity out there, but I know I'll be put to rest in nature, and it has the choice to swallow me like a friend or to leave me for the wolves. I don't think it would think twice about letting the wolves have my flesh now. I was so blinded by revenge in that damned prison that I wouldn't let nature take its course, even when my heart was begging to die. I want to use the fact that I was brought back to mean something. I want my life to matter."

She was crying once more, and she turned away from M'akz. Time passed, and she finally felt her eyelids growing heavy. She wiped her eyes with a piece of her ragged shirt and snuggled in closer to the half-drow beside her. As sleep began to carry her off, she thought she heard humming, and when dreams swallowed her whole, she heard a lilting voice singing softly to her.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are..."


End file.
